西苏论画 203

西苏论画 203

Figure 2.1 Leonardo da Vinci, Vierge
à l’Enfant. Paris, Musée du Louvre.

图画2.1
李奥纳多、达文西“婴孩”
巴黎、罗孚宫

The drawing wants to draw what is invisible to the naked eye. It’s very difficult. The
effort to write is always beyond my strength. What you see here, these lines, these
strokes, are rungs on the ladder of writing, the steps which I have cut with my fingernails
in my own wall, in order to hoist myself up above and beyond myself.

这幅图画想要绘画出肉眼看不见的东西。这很困难。书写的努力总算非我的力量所及。你们在此看见的东西,这些线条,这些笔画,都是书写的楼梯的台阶,用我的手指甲,我从我自己的墙壁上挖出这些台阶。为了支撑我自己,高过于我自己,超越我自己。

Stigmata 20
And drawing ‘the living of life’ (what else is there to want to draw?)—is maddening;
it’s exactly what none knows how to draw, the quick of life. But it’s not impossible.
It’s something small, precise—I’m guessing—it must be red, it’s, I’m guessing, the
fire speck—or the blood speck—it’s—I’m searching—the point which nails this drawing,
this page, this verse, in our memory, the unforgettable stroke—the needle planted in the
heart of eternity—I’m searching—a minuscule fatality, a point which hurts my heart and
hurts the world’s heart, it’s no bigger than the red spider which continues on while
Stavroguine thinks about the crime, thinks about the crime, and doesn’t repent…
(—I’m advancing, I’m approaching, be careful because if I see what it is, just as
quickly I won’t see anymore—)

圣痕 20
这幅图画,「生命的生活者」,(除外,还有什么想要绘画?)–令人疯狂。那确实是没有人知道如何去画的东西—生命的敏锐脉动。但是,这并非不可能。那是某件微小,确实的东西—我猜想—那一定是红色的。我正在猜想—那是火的火花—或是血的火花—我正在寻求—那是这个时刻,将这幅图画,这页纸,这首诗,钉牢在我们的记忆,这难忘的笔触的时刻。针被安置在永恒的核心—我正在寻求—微型的致命性,伤害我的心,与伤害世界的心的时刻。它跟红蜘蛛一样的微小。红蜘蛛继续存活,当史塔罗巾尼正在思考犯罪,打算犯罪而没有悔恨、、、(我正在前进,我正在靠近,请你们小心,因为我看见那是什么,正如很快地,我将什么都看不见—)

The trace of the quick of life hidden beneath the rounded appearances of life, life
which remains hidden because we wouldn’t bear seeing it as it is, in all the brilliance of
horror that it is, it is without pity, like the drawing must be.

生命的敏锐脉动的痕迹,隐藏在生命的圆融的表象之下。这是始终隐藏的生命,因为我们将无法忍受看见它,依照它真实的样子,当它令人骇惧的辉煌灿烂。好像绘画就必须像这个样子,没有怜惜。

This morning in the museum, I was passing in front of the drawings, in the slight
alarm of the reading which doesn’t know from where the blow will come, and I was
looking, distracted, at these morsels of worry, these stuttered avowals of nothing, nothing
clearly delivered.

在博物馆的这个早上,我正在经过这些图画,在阅读的轻微警示里。这种阅读并被是知道,打击将从何而来。我正在观看这些微微的焦虑,心神不宁地,空无的这些吞吞吐吐的宣称,没有一样东西清楚地被传递。

It was then that the blow came from whom I wasn’t expecting it at all. What is this
moment called when we suddenly recognize what we have never seen? And which gives
us a joy like a wound? This is the woman who did that to me: the Woman Ironing.

就在那时,打击来自于我根本就没有预期它的人那里。这个时刻被称为什么,当我们突然体认出我们从来没有看见的东西?它给予我们一种像是伤害的欢乐?这就是对我这样做的这位女人:正在熨烫衣服的女人。

Figure 2.2 Pablo Picasso, Etude pour
‘La Repasseuse.’ Paris, Musée Picasso.

图画2.2 毕卡索:「正在熨烫衣服的女人」
巴黎,罗孚宫

This Woman Ironing hurts us. Because the drawing catches ‘the secret’ in its (contrary)
enmeshed threads. ‘The thing,’ that sharp thing, ‘life.’ We thought we were drawing a
Woman Ironing. But it’s worse. This Woman Ironing is a tragedy. A needle blow right in
the middle of eternity’s chest. But in order to pull the needle out, to strike the blow, one
had to scribble furiously. We struggled. Against what or whom?

「正在熨烫衣服的这个女人」伤害到我们。因为这幅图画捕获住这个「秘密」,在它的(矛盾的)纠缠的脉络里。那个「物象」,那个敏锐的物象,「生命」。我们认为我们正在绘画一幅「正在熨烫衣服的女人」。但是,这样更加糟糕。「正在熨烫衣服的女人」是个悲剧。就在永恒的胸膛的中央刺上一根针。但是为了将这根针拔出,为了给予这个打击,我们必须愤怒地胡乱书写。我们奋斗,对抗什么?对抗谁?

Against the idea of Woman Ironing. The drawing carries traces of blows, of bruises
and even of blood. She’s tumefied.

对看「正在熨烫的女人」的这个「观念」。这幅图画带着各种打击的痕迹,瘀伤累累的痕迹,甚至是流血的痕迹。她受到惊吓。

By dint of passing and ironing over the body of the woman ironing, what ended up
appearing—is—one would say a crime. From the body broken and streaked with strokes
comes the body hidden in the body of the woman ironing, or more precisely the soul’s
head, and, neck exposed, she bellows.

凭借着经过并且熨烫正在熨烫衣服的女人的身体。结果出现的东西—是—我们估且说是犯罪。从被伤害,伤痕累累的身体,随之而来的是隐藏在正在熨烫的女人的身体里面的身体。更确实地说,就是灵魂的头,颈项裸露,她呼吁著。

I don’t want to draw the idea, I don’t want to write being, I want what happens in the
Woman Ironing, I want the nerve, I want the Revelation of the broken Woman Ironing.

我不想要绘画这个观念,我不想要书写生命实存。我想要在这幅「正在熨烫衣服的女人」所发生的东西。我想要这个勇气。我想要这位受到伤害的正在熨烫衣服的女人的启示。

And I want to write what passes between us and the Woman Ironing, the electric current.
The emotion. Because as a result of drawing her with my eyes, I felt: it’s death that is
passing through the Woman Ironing, our mortality in person. I want to draw our
mortality, this quiver.

我想要书写在我们与「正在熨烫衣服的女人」之间,经过的东西,这个电流。情感。因为由于我的眼睛绘画她的结果,我感觉到它的「死亡」正在经过这幅「正在熨烫衣服的女人」,我们处于肉身的有限生命。我想要绘画我们的有限生命,这种颤栗。

The emotion is born at the angle of one state with another state. At the passing, so
brusque. Accident. Instant of alteration that takes us by surprise. And the body which
expresses itself before the word. First the cry, then the words.

情感诞生于一种状态跟另外一种状态的「角度」。在经过时,如此的突兀。意外。让我们大吃一惊的轮替的瞬间。在字之前表达它自己的身体。首先是呼叫,然后是文字。

When it’s not entirely clear, what is being felt or being thought in the body—of Christ,
of the woman ironing—that’s the moment we seek to draw. Are we going to die? Kill?
The hand rises, the head, the pen falls once more.
The drawing feels death passing.

虽然它并没有完全清楚,在身体,正在被感觉或正在被思想的东西—在耶稣基督的身体,在正在熨烫衣服的女人的身体。那就是我们尝试要绘画的时刻。我们即将会死亡吗?即将要杀戮吗?
手举起,头,笔再一次落下。
这幅图画感觉死我经过。

We believe we’re drawing (going to) the Beheading of St John the Baptist. But it’s
worse. At the moment of Beheading, suddenly, there’s been a change of heart. Or rather
of life. Something unpredictable has happened between the two characters during the
drawing. We were bending over the saint in horror, and at the moment we contemplated
his body with curiosity, that is to say the two parts of his body, suddenly so contrary
Our entire attention was diverted and carried away in the opposite direction by the
executioner. Because, at the moment the drawing wanted to draw the body’s pain and the head’s mourning, there was a sudden rise of life in the executioner, which the drawing was unable to resist.

我们相信,我们正在绘画(将有绘画)圣者约翰,耶稣的洗礼先知的被砍头。但是这更加糟糕。在被砍头的时刻,突然地,心灵已经发生改变。或者说,生命发生改变。某件无法预测的东西曾经发生在这两位人物之间,就在绘画的过程。我们骇惧地俯视这位圣者。就在我们好奇地沉思他的身体之际,换句话说,沉思他的身体的两个部分。突然地,如此相反的两个部分。我们整个的注意力被转移,被带走,朝向相反的方向,被这位侩子手。因为,在这幅图画想要绘画身体的痛苦与头的哀悼的这个时刻,在侩子手,生命突然上升出来。这幅绘画无法抗拒的生命的突然上升。

Figure 2.3 Rembrandt, Décollation de
Saint Jean Baptiste. Paris, Musée du
Louvre.

The executioner’s joy burst out. This couldn’t have occurred before the drawing executed the saint. Because the saint had to have been properly beheaded in order for the executioner to have
suddenly been transfigured, and become one, on the spot, body with saber.

侩子手段欢乐突然奔放出来。在这幅绘画将圣者执行砍头之前,这是不可能发生的事情。因为圣者必须恰如其份地被砍头,为了让侩子手突然地被转变升华。然后跟刀斧成为一体,就在当场。

At the instant
we were describing the saint’s collapse, (and at the sight of the decapitated body trying to
get up, pushing with its arms), the executioner straightened up like a spring, I mean the
pen, and with a grand full stroke signed the executioner’s strong and sudden jubilation.
We want to write the torment, and we write the joy. At the same time. At each
moment I am another myself. The one in and on the other.

就在我们正在描述圣者崩溃的瞬间(当我们一看就被砍头的身体正在尝试站立起来,用它的双手推著),侩子手像弹簧般挺直站立。我的意思是,笔站立起来。用辉煌的充分的笔画,传递侩子手段强烈而突然的欢乐。我们想要画出这个折磨,我们书写这种欢乐。同时地。在我成为另外一个我的每个时刻。在他者里面与上面的这个我。

雄伯译
32hsiung@pchome.com.tw
https://springhero.wordpress.com

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